There is nothing to fear but fear itself... Oh, and cats.

It's no secret that I have a really strong irrational fear of cats. I am not sure where it started but it might have something to do with the devastating full-body case of ringworm my neighbor Megan and I contracted at age six from a litter of seemingly friendly kittens.

It could have been worsened by the mangy neighborhood cat that hung out around our house in Boerne. Was it actually mangy? No. But I use this term of endearment to describe all cats. Anyway, it came into our garage one night and had been attacked. It had a golf-ball sized nasty pocket of puss swollen up on its face which was quite possibly the most disgusting thing I have ever seen. My dad and Coach Goering had to perform Emergency Vet surgery on it in the garage that night while Trey looked on and I drifted off to nightmares.

It didn't get any better when my best friend Sandra's cat Cinder was attacked, losing an eyeball. So, the one cat in my life that I could be around without spazzing out every five minutes had to lose an eye and now slinks around giving me the crazy wink.

Not to mention I am allergic to them.

Anyway, what was I saying? Oh. Yes. This preface leads me up to Friday night when my dear friend Kim came to visit. When I answered the door, I saw an orange ball of fur moving under the bush beside our front porch. I said, "Oh my gosh, that's a cat! Quick! Get inside!" I know that no one we know has a cat in this neighborhood. I have totally scoped that out, trust me.

Well, Kim the Cat Lover starts looking in the bushes and notices that the cats are only about 3 to 4 weeks old and wants to see how many there are. At that moment, I couldn't think of a single positive thing that could come of looking between the bush and my neighbor's fence trying to spook out feral mangy kittens who aren't in the mood to be counted. I couldn't stop her. Before I knew it, we were in my neighbor Trudy's back yard with a broom handle listening for scurrying sounds under her life-size painted wooden snowmen tucked against her back fence. We had them cornered. "Perfect," I thought. "Let's go in and dip ourselves in some hand sanitizer."

Kim had other ideas. "Go get a box!" I thought, "Is she kidding?" But, then again, I know that every kitten that goes unboxed represents about ten stray cats roaming my neighborhood in a matter of months. Luckily, God intervened. An angel in the form of an AT&T door-to-door salesman walks past and sees us crawling around the bush. "Are you guys looking for snakes?" Yeah, I wish. He puts down his clipboard and totally joins in the mission.

By this time, we have caught a brown one and it is hissing at us clawing up my cardboard Pampered Chef box. It is mad. It's obvious to Kim and Chris (cat-loving AT&T guy) that these kittens have never been held. It's obvious to me that this box is not going to hold. I use this excuse to go get a Rubbermaid, some packing tape, wash my hands again, get a Dr. Pepper, and take some deep breaths.

Fast forward to one hour later. I am sweating and am totally covered in mosquito bites.

[Reminder, my top three least favorite things: 1. Cats, 2. Being hot, 3. Mosquito bites.]

We have three of them and have successfully chased the fourth one up into the engine of my neighbor Jorge's van. We ring his doorbell to get him into the mix and after he disassembles his entire van console, we wait. We wait, and wait, and wait. We have three cats in a Rubbermaid, one trapped in a van, and now we have located an angry Momma kitty. I don't want the kittens to be stripped from their mother, but I don't want to become foster Mom to the Mange family, either.

About fifteen minutes later... Jorge had long since gone back inside to finish his dinner... Kim the Cat Whisperer is successful in coaxing the last kitten out into the wheel well of the van and grabs it. She and Chris put him in the hissing scratching clawing Rubbermaid and we have to decide what to do. Chris agrees to finish his door-to-door sales route and make some calls home. He promises to come back and let us know if his girlfriend is willing to take and foster these kittens until they can be adopted out. Oh, please God.


If not, what was I going to do with this Rubbermaid full of feral cats? It was Friday night and the animal shelters were closed or full. Trust me, I had frantically called each of them.

It gives me the heeby-geebies just looking at it. Seriously. They were scared and skiddish and hissing. I am not exaggerating when I say that the box sounded like it had snakes in it. When Jeff took the lid off the Rubbermaid to take pictures, they were clawing to get out. The hissing was horrible. Jeff was laughing and I kept saying, "It's not funny!" until I actually started crying. I think he felt bad. My fear is irrational, but it is real. And I am making light of it now, but it really wasn't funny.

Well, by the time Chris came back for the litter, Kim and I were off shopping and his girlfriend had convinced him to release the kittens back into the yard because they still needed their mom's milk. Jeff (who had not been involved in the sweaty dramatic ordeal) simply agreed and complied!?! I think he was just afraid Chris was going to press him to order At&T. By the time we got home, the Momma and the kittens were gone.

So, the ending of this story? The part that still makes me jumpy when I answer the front door... The part that makes me load the kids BEFORE lifting the garage door...

Well, I know what now roams the neighborhood KNOWING I tried to take them from their mother...

If you want one, do NOT ask me to help you catch it.